


Street Spirit

by RuskanLintu



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Schizophrenia, Slow Burn, The Author Wrote This Instead of Studying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-03-06 11:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18850486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuskanLintu/pseuds/RuskanLintu
Summary: Dave volunteers at a homeless shelter to come to terms with the things he's seen and done while soldiering in Afghanistan. He meets Klaus, equally lost, and they're drawn to each other.Maybe love isn't meant for people like them. Maybe they're too broken, too damaged, too used to loneliness.But that doesn't mean they won't try.





	1. A shadow wanders through the fog (Searching for the light it lost)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of studying and it's my first multi-chapter fic on AO3, so feedback, advice, and constructive criticism are always welcome!
> 
> Beta-read by Kata. ((Here's your fucking credit, fight me.))
> 
> I can't and won't promise regular updates, sorry not sorry.
> 
> Chapter title from the song "Dead Man's Eyes" by Apocalyptica, work title from "Street Spirit (Fade Out)" by Radiohead.

_“You think you're qualified for the work here?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“I'm not talking about physical strength, Mr. Katz. What you're going to see won't be pretty, nor will your work be easy. This is not some kind of feel-good project for extra credit or a nice line in your CV. We need you to pull through.”_

_“I understand that. And I promise I won't let you down.”_

_The elderly woman who had introduced herself as Agnes flashed him a tiny smile. “Good. It's not like we can be picky anyway, but some dedication doesn't hurt.”_

_Dave nodded, not sure what to make off the direction the interview had turned into._

_Agnes put down her notebook and started to cram through her desk drawer. “I'm curious,” she said without looking up. “Why do you want to volunteer at a homeless shelter?”_

_“I soldiered in Afghanistan,” Dave admitted silently. “I'm tired of ruining lives and now is my time to start over.”_

_The woman opposite him huffed a humorless laugh and handed him what he supposed was his contract. “Well, Mr. Katz, let me know if I can be of any assistance in your redemption arc.”_

_“Please, call me Dave. And it's not redemption.” He mumbled the last bit, but the woman heard him anyway._

_“Oh?” Her interest seemed sincere. “What is it then, Dave?”_

_“Restitution.”_

 

 

“The left shelf is for the groceries we hand out. Bread and fruit, fresh water, and sometimes, when our sponsors feel especially generous” – the other volunteer winked – “even cookies and those plastic-wrapped cakes that taste like cardboard.”

“Are they generous often?” Dave asked carefully.

“Nope,” came the chirpy reply. “But we get by.”

Dave decided that he liked Lara. She was a short teenage girl with dark, freckled skin and a purple dyed Afro, who knew the shelter like the pockets of her ripped jeans. He'd felt imitated by her no-bullshit attitude at first but had come to appreciate it within the first five minutes of her 'shelter-tour', as she called it.

It turned out that being faced with poverty and tiny storage rooms that were supposed to feed dozens of homeless people was much easier when it was accompanied by witty commentary and dry humor.

“The right shelf,” Lara continued her lecture and slapped her hand against a sealed cardboard box, “holds the supplies for our soup kitchen. We use the canned goods as a basis but try to add whatever is available to stretch the soup and make it more filling.” 

Dave raised an eyebrow in question.

“Yep, that was my first reaction too,” she grinned. “I'll show you later. Essentially, we try to use up any groceries we can't hand out because they need to be cooked – potatoes, pasta, rice – and add it to the” - she gestured in quotation marks - “'Soup of the Day'.”

“Sounds fancy,” he commented dryly.

Lara laughed. “You should try my potato-noodle soup one day. It's a winter specialty.”

“Are you aspiring to become a chef or what?”

“Bitch, please. I already am one.” She smiled fondly. “For the people here at least.”

“I bet you are,” Dave said and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He didn't know whether he could stand working side by side with people like Lara, who'd never done anything wrong in their life –

“Hey, stop worrying, soldier.” _Of course she knew, who was he kidding?_ “I don't want to know what you've seen or done and I guess you don't want to tell me. But I came here in first place to do forty hours of community service because I helped setting my teacher's car on fire – no regrets, by the way – and just stayed because it felt like the right thing to do.”

“Your point is?”

“Agnes told us a thing or too, nothing specific, only why you feel like you should be here - again, I don't want to assume or anything - but without excusing or condemning anything, following orders is not the same as premediated murder.” She huffed and winked. "Then again, if your desire for redemption means that you'll help us here, be my guest."

Dave nodded. 

 

 

Another volunteer, a middle-aged man with a full beard and a tired expression who introduced himself as Hazel, arrived at 5 pm and helped Dave to open the cans they would be using tonight, while Lara chopped carrots.

Hazel didn't talk much except to complain about his job to Lara, who rolled her eyes but listened attentively anyway. Dave tried to picture that girl setting fire to a car and… found it was surprisingly easy, though he assumed she'd had a reason.

Agnes, the head of the shelter, came in half an hour into their cooking and inspected their results. “I see you're done so far? The beds are ready too. Remind me to get some new sheets soon, some of the ones we have are pretty torn.” She touched Dave's arm. “Can a talk to you for a moment?”

“Sure.” He followed her out and into the dorm, where they sat down next onto the lower bunk of one of the five bunk-beds. It was small room with bare walls but someone, most likely Agnes, had hung up some pictures on the walls to make it more homely. And he had to admit, it was as domestic as a homeless shelter could ever be.

Agnes cleared her throat. “So, this is your first evening and we've all been there. You'll see, you'll adjust quickly. There's just a few things you should know.”

Dave nodded while she spoke, ready to absorb every tiny bit of information. Paying attention to whatever superiors said had been drilled into him often enough after all and old habits died hard.

“There will be about two or three dozen people tonight, all of them get dinner. Lara will show you how to make sure there's enough for everyone. The first ten people to ask for a bed for the night get a bed, but if two of them agree to share one you can let them both in.” Agnes chuckled. “Just make sure they take the lower bunk.” Then something in her expression shifted and she looked a little uncomfortable. “You should know… there will be junkies. And alcoholics, lots of them. Don't meddle with their business but make sure they don't have any drugs on them, otherwise they don't get to sleep here. Most of the drug-addicts won't finish their food, but tell them that it's unfair to waste soup someone else could have eaten.”

“That's guilt-tripping.”

She shrugged. “It's effective.”

He huffed and gave her a mock-salute. “Can do, Ma'am.”

Agnes smiled warmly but her eyes glinted mischievously. “I expect no less of you.” She stood up and laid a hand on his shoulder. “We open at six, go grab a cup of coffee. It's going to be a long night.”

 

 

It took less than fifteen minutes for the refectory to fill with thirty people and less than twenty for them to run out of soup. Luckily, Lara had guessed the right portion size well and no one had to stay hungry.

Hazel leaned against to counter to give his aching muscles a break and Dave wanted to take another sip of his black coffee, but found the cup empty and went to the kitchen for a refill, only to run into Lara when he opened the door.

“Are you leaving?” he asked while he poured steaming coffee into his cup.

Lara nodded. “I have school tomorrow.”

“Oh, well… have fun? And don't set fire to cars?” he tried.

Lara grinned. “No promises. See you tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, I'll be here.”

“Great! I have to say bye to Hazel, wouldn't want him to feel left out.” She shuffled back into the refectory and gave Hazel a quick side-hug.

While Dave watched them laugh about an inside joke he didn't understand, his gaze fell onto a thin, pale man, probably about his age, who sat at the table in the corner and seemed to talk to himself. He held a spoon in his shaking hand but didn't seem to have eaten much.

“Bye!” He startled when Lara hugged him and rushed to the door, but his reflexes allowed him to grab her arm before she was out of reach.

“Hey, wait.” He nodded to the man in the corner. “Who's that?”

Lara looked thoughtful. “Oh, that's Klaus. He… he's an addict and… not quite right in the head, don't know whether it's because of the drugs or if that's the reason he turned to them in first place.” She smiled lightly. “Don't get me wrong, he's a great guy on his best days, his sense of style is unmatched and he's quite the storyteller. But his mind is a dark place.” She pulled her arm out of the grasp he hadn't realized he still held her in. “I have to go but try to make sure he finishes that soup, will you?”

“I'll try.”

“Great. Just tell him it's for me.” Lara headed out. “G'night everyone, and behave!”

A choir of farewells and good-night's followed her out of the door, as well as a single loud “No promises!”.

After the laughter had subdued and the room was once again filled with pleasant chatter, Dave made his way over to where Klaus sat and took one of the empty seats, an act which Klaus didn't even seem to register.

“Hello?” asked Dave the other man. “Are you okay?”

Klaus looked up, confusion written all over his face, and tried to focus his gaze on Dave. Then he flashed him his palm, which read “HELLO” in thick, black letters.

Dave felt his eyebrows shoot up. If he didn't like to talk, he was very dedicated to it.

“I'm Dave,” he said and moved his hand across the table. He was a little surprised when it was taken into a cold, trembling one.

“Klaus,” said the other man with a hoarse voice and Dave nodded smilingly, as if he didn't already know that.

The tiniest of smiles tucked at the corners of Klaus' mouth and Dave could see how his dull eyes lit up a little.

They were so beautiful that Dave had to swallow; large and moss-green, framed by long, dark lashes. There was some eyeliner smudged around them as well, but it was hard to tell where the make-up ended and the dark rings under his eyes began. It occured to him that this man was probably high as a kite, something both Agnes and Lara had tried to prepare him for.

The last realization pulled him out of his thoughts and back into the situation at hand. “Well, Klaus. Now that we've met, I need you to finish you plate. You see, it's not fair --”

“Save the guilt-tripping,” Klaus interrupted but he grinned. “I've heard that about a hundred times, it doesn't work anymore.”

“Uh…” Dave was at loss. “Lara… wants you to eat up?” he tried.

Klaus frowned. “Now that's different.” He ate a spoonful of soup.

“Oh, good. She scares you too?” Dave asked.

The other man laughed. “You're scared of her?” He took Dave's sheepish smile as confirmation. “No, I just don't want to disappoint her. She's working her ass off and not appreciating it - _that_ wouldn't be fair, just because I'm not hungry.”

“I don't want to pry but… why are you here then? Not that you shouldn't, just --”

“This is a homeless shelter and I'm homeless. I just need a bed for the night.” He still smiled, but the dullness in his eyes was back and Dave kicked himself mentally for being so tactless.

He tried to save the situation. “We're technically full, but maybe there's someone who wouldn't mind sharing a bunk. You don't… uh…”

“…take up much space? Trust me, I make a horrible bunk partner.” Klaus winked and stood up, holding on to the table with trembling hands to steady himself. “I guess I'll just have try again tomorrow then.”

With no further goodbye but a flash of his other hand - "GOODBYE" - he made his way out of the shelter and into the night, leaving Dave and his almost untouched soup behind.

And Dave felt like the biggest idiot alive.


	2. Pictures in the dark (They seem so eerily real tonight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus and Dave bond in the worst kind of situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, thank you for your positive feedback!
> 
> This potato has survived her exams and you can expect at least two or three new chapters before I go on vacation.
> 
> I have decided to make this a No Power!AU, in order to ground the story. The characters won't have to deal with the impending apocalypse but their own issues, which (let's be honest) is enough struggle. I'm not a sadist after all (but they're still gonna suffer, like, a lot). Hehe.
> 
> Credit to Kata, just because I can. :))
> 
> Chapter title is taken from "The Haunting" by Avantasia.

Klaus didn't show up the next day.

 

“So… how exactly did you fuck up?” Lara probably thought her tone was casual, but the underlying curiosity couldn't have been more obvious if she'd shoved it directly into his face.

Dave turned to her and avoided being hit with a can of chicken noodle soup just barely. “What makes you think I fucked up?”

She put the can down but held his gaze and raised her left eyebrow slowly. 

One second.

Two seconds.

Three.

Four.

Dave threw up his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. I might have asked Klaus… why he was here.”

Lara blinked.

He could practically feel the heat rise to his cheeks and was busy to explain himself. “Because he said he wasn't hungry! And I didn't think --”

“You thought with your dick, didn't you?” Lara asked dryly while fighting the grin that tucked at the corners of her mouth.

“Excuse me?”

She gave up and laughed loudly. “You are excused. He's pretty. And those enchanting green --”

Dave rolled his eyes. “I swear, I didn't think with my -” He lowered his voice. “- dick.”

Any further excuses were interrupted by Hazel, who joined them and grabbed a can to open it. “Any secrets I should know of?”

Dave said “Nothing important” at the same time Lara answered “Dave asked a homeless guy what his business at a shelter was”.

To his credit, Hazel didn't even twitch. “Elaborate,” he demanded calmly.

Dave groaned. “Do I have to?”

“Naah…” Lara smiled innocently. “I'll do it for you!”

Dave got the impression they enjoyed his misery a little too much, but he guessed it was just what he deserved.

 

Klaus showed up the day after that. 

He wore a big, carefree smile on his face and the most outrageous crop-top Dave had ever seen – neon green with a huge, glittery smiley on it. Klaus pretty much ran to the counter, shoving the other people out of his way, to pull Lara over and give her a sloppy kiss on the cheek, before he asked for a bed for the night and shimmied to the dorm.

Lara wiped her cheek theatrically but looked content with herself when she wrote his name on top of the list. “I guess the early bird came, saw and found a nest for the night.”

“Did you just butcher Caesar?” Dave asked incredulously and handed out a bowl of soup.

“Yep. What are you going to do, stab me, Brute?”

Dave nearly dropped the ladle when he doubled over with laughter.

 

 

He had volunteered to take the night shift, which meant he would stay at the shelter overnight and sleep in the tiny chamber between the dorm and the kitchen. He had to get up early in the morning to get the food packages ready that the shelter handed out regularly, but Agnes had promised him breakfast and coffee in the donut shop she owned and it wasn't like he had a day-job to hold down. 

Warmth spread in his chest when he realized that he must have earned Agnes' trust, given that she'd left him in charge of the place on his third day. For some reason, it felt like one of his greatest achievements in life.

In fact, he considered taking these shifts more often. Dave told himself that he just didn't want Hazel or Agnes herself, who had to leave for work in the morning, to be tired, but if he was honest with himself, he had to admit that the quiet of his small apartment became too much for him sometimes, especially at night. And even if he slept separate from the others, the thought of their presence calmed him down and he was actually excited when he locked up the kitchen and retired for the night.

The cot was pretty hard, but he'd slept on the bare floor before, so he was positive he'd get used to it quickly. 

And he did. He fell asleep faster than he had in a while and slept soundly without waking up every few hours, trying to spot enemies in the dark of his room that weren't there. 

_A shell exploded._

_He heard the blast, the sound of objects being flung through the air and falling to the floor._

_The screams and shouts of his comrades reached him, but they were muffled, as if somebody had shoved cotton into his ears._

_Dave sprung up and reached for the gun he kept next to his cot, but his hands searched in vain, he grabbed air, and – for fuck's sake – where was his riffle, he had to get up, find someone, hide, defend, protect, but there was no gun --_

He hit the floor with a thud and his head cracked against the nightstand, knocking off the lamp in the process.

The lamp was what dissolved the scene in his flashback and he sat back against the cot, panting heavily. Flicking the switch, he lightened the room and took in his surroundings.

_An inventory of reality_ , as his therapist called it.

White walls, a painting of the Statue of Liberty in a heavy wooden frame. A cot with blue bedsheets. A white nightstand, a red lamp with polka-dots. His duffel bag.

Dave's breathing had calmed but he still shook with minute tremors. He was relatively certain that something had triggered the flashback, so he pushed himself off the floor, as he had decided to check out the source of the noise. To make sure everything was okay and to convince himself that _he_ was okay.

He cracked the door of the chamber open and peeked into the refectory, which laid in perfect darkness. It was a tiny movement in the shadows behind the counter, barely visible to an untrained eye, that caught his attention. He wished for a flashlight, but the moonshine falling through the window next to the door would have to do, even though it barely reached the back of the room.

Dave's instincts prepared him for a fight and his balled fists trembled with the rush of adrenaline. But nothing could prepare him for –

“Klaus?” he asked and hated himself for the shake in his voice.

The other man was pressed into the corner, curled up in a tight ball, taking up as little space as his lanky frame allowed. He looked shaken, absolutely shaken, and so _afraid_ that Dave felt a pang of sadness. Klaus' pupils were blown wide, his already pale face devoid of any color, as if somebody or something had sniffed his inner fire out and left a pile of smoldering ashes that slowly but surely grew cold.

He knew _afraid_ and it was something nobody deserved.

It took him a few moments to realize that Klaus was afraid of him.

He could have slapped himself. Of course, he was in charge of the place tonight, instructed to prevent any disturbances, and towering over Klaus in the dark probably did nothing to calm a man he assumed had severe mental problems.

Dave crouched down slowly, careful not to make any sudden move, and took place on the floor, facing Klaus.

He attempted a smile that he hoped was soothing. “You're safe here, okay?” Dave knew that 'you're okay' or 'everything's alright' was bullshit when it was clearly not.

Klaus only curled further into himself.

Dave leaned against the counter, so that their knees touched. “Do you know where you are, Klaus?”

“Agnes' shelter,” came the whispered reply, if a bit unsure, but Dave nodded eagerly.

“That's right. And you know that the people here want to help you, right?” A nod. “Nobody's going to hurt you.” Dave had meant the latter part to be assuring realized his mistake only a moment later.

The other man let out a strangled whimper, like the fearful cry of a cornered animal, and clamped his hands tightly over his ears while he hit his head against his knees. It took Dave a few seconds to make out the words the whimper had turned into.

_”Nonononononononono --”_

It took all of Dave's willpower to form a clear thought and recall the things his therapist had taught him about talking someone through a psychotic episode. It wasn't as much as he would have liked.

“Klaus?” he asked softly and laid his hands onto Klaus', still shutting his ears. The gentle touch seemed to calm him a little, at least he stopped hitting his head. Klaus was still breathing harshly and much too fast but it didn't sound like he'd hyperventilate anytime soon, so Dave chose to focus on bringing him back to reality first. He took the positive reaction to his touch as permission to go on and moved his hands down to Klaus' wrists. When he slowly pried them away from his ears, he tried not to think about how easily he could wrap his hands around them. Dave put Klaus' hands onto his bony knees to gives them something to hold on to and watched as his long fingers dug into his kneecaps.

“Klaus?” The sound of his name caused the other man to flinch and he raised his head slowly. Klaus' eyes were still squeezed shut, but Dave had managed to get his attention. “You don't have to answer, just nod or shake your head, okay?”

A timid nod.

“Alright. You can hear me?”

Klaus nodded.

“Are we alone? And don't tell me what you think I want to hear.”

Klaus hesitated for a brief moment but shook his head.

“Have you seen these people before?”

Nod.

Dave _really, really_ didn't want to ask the next question. “Are they real?”

Klaus huffed and even though it sounded a little choked, it was a reaction. 

“They're real to me.” His voice was barely above a whisper and cracked at the end, but he was talking and Dave couldn't stop a smile from creeping onto his features.

Klaus eyes were still shut, but it could be attributed to exhaustion, not fear. He leaned back against the wall and took deep breaths, obviously still shaken from his episode.

Dave took the opportunity to relax and bring his thoughts under control after the stressful past… How much time had passed? It had felt like hours, but he knew from experience that it had probably been much less, maybe only a few minutes. 

When he opened his eyes again, he found Klaus looking at him. There was something in his gaze Dave couldn't name, something stronger than gratitude, and Dave couldn't stand it, so he stared at the floor.

“Thank you,” Klaus said and Dave's head shot up.

Those two words held so much sincerity that Dave got a lump in his throat. He didn't want to think about how Klaus had most likely never had anyone by his side during an episode, or how scarily real his hallucinations must seem to him.

“Uh… you're welcome.” _Wow, really smooth, Katz._

Klaus sighed. “I woke you up, didn't I?” he asked and gestured to the shards of a bowl next to him. Dave remembered placing it on the counter last night and Klaus must have knocked it over the edge in his panic.

“Yeah, but… no problem, it's not your fault. I'm a bit jumpy, y'know?” Dave yanked the dog tags he usually kept hidden under his shirt out of his collar. “I'm a vet. Served in Afghanistan.”

The other man dragged a hand over his face and groaned. “That makes it even worse.”

Dave was confused. “Huh, why? It's not like we're holy or something --”

“No,” Klaus interrupted. “But I guess you don't even get much sleep when I'm not around to wake you up.”

“Oh. Yeah, that's me.” Dave grinned broadly, it was fake but he didn't feel like explaining his PTSD right now. “David Katz, the tired, disenchanted vet.” He made jazz hands to lighten the mood. He could tell that Klaus saw right through his bullshit, but the other man respected his boundaries and just smiled and played along.

“Klaus, the schizophrenic junkie,” he said and copied the gesture, while wiggling his thick eyebrows in time to the movement of his hands.

_'Oh, shit,' Dave thought._

It must have been a hilarious picture, two grown man on the floor at 5 in the morning, waving their jazz hands into each others' face. It felt strangely domestic.

Dave shook his head. “You're much more than that.”

Klaus gave him _that_ look again and this time he couldn't find the strength it took to break the stare and look away. When his blue eyes met green ones, something sparked in them. A glimmer of life, of a fire inside. A will to fight.

“So are you, David Katz.”

Silently, Dave swore to himself to keep this spark alive.


	3. Reason's what we're gonna give (To be given peace of mind)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave is reluctant to accept help, Hazel is Hazel, and Agnes is too precious for this world.
> 
> Business as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to a new episode of "Let's deal with songs stuck in my head by turning them into chapter titles"!  
> This time, the lyrics are from "Stargazers" by Avantasia.
> 
> This chapter, the next one, and some later ones are going to mention or describe Jewish traditions. Since Dave is canonically Jewish, it felt wrong to leave out what is probably a significant part of his life.  
> As I'm not Jewish myself, those scenes are and will always be discussed with my beta, who did not only come up with the name of Dave's therapist but is also kind and patient enough to answer all my questions regarding Judaism and Jewish traditions (and who told me not to let Dave be alone).
> 
> *raises glass* Enjoy.

Klaus had left early in the morning, setting out to wherever he spent his days without taking a food package with him.

But he had smiled at Dave before he'd hit the streets, flashing his goodbye-hand.

The two of them had spent the rest of the night in the refectory since neither of them could have gone back to sleep, talking about nothing but mostly just sitting in comfortable silence. In that short time, Dave had learned that Klaus was twenty-five years old and an expert at holding a conversation about any topic without revealing anything about himself. Dave had tried in vain to get to know the other man better, even by talking about himself _which he really, really hated_. His alarm had killed his efforts in the end and while he had gotten up to prepare the food bags, Klaus had left in a hurry as if he was late for something. And for all Dave knew, maybe he was.

Now Dave was on the way to Griddy's Doughnuts, the shop Agnes owned, in order to fetch his own breakfast. For a moment he wondered if he should have kissed everybody's cheek and wished them a nice day at work like some cliche housewife, but then he shook his head at his own silliness. Though was positive that most of the people at the shelter would have played along, good-natured despite their circumstances as they were. The thought made him chuckle lightly and he decided that Klaus must have rubbed off on him.

Klaus. Who had turned out to be a really funny and talkative guy when he wasn't screaming at the ghosts his mind made up. Who had cracked silly jokes at his own expanse to dissolve the tension but was reluctant to share any information about his life.

Klaus, who believed that Dave was more than a traumatized veteran.

It was the bell over the door of the diner that ripped him out of his thoughts. Dave hadn't even realized that he'd already gotten there. The warmth inside brought to his attention how cold it was already, much too cold for September. 

When he stepped into the building, the crisp autumn air and stink of the streets were instantly replaced with the smell of fresh coffee and donuts. Agnes, who wore a pink shirt and an apron, waved from behind the counter and gestured for him to take a seat in front of her.

“Good morning! Coffee?” she asked before he even managed to open his mouth. Agnes didn't wait for his reply, simply pouring him a huge mug.

“Morning,” he answered. “And yes, thank you.”

Agnes smiled at him. “You're welcome, dear. What can I bring you?”

“Uhhh…” Looking at the overwhelming display of donuts, he found himself at loss which sort to choose, because frankly, they all looked delicious. “I don't know, surprise me,” he decided.

The woman chuckled. “Well, let me see…” She picked a donut from the highest and lowest shelf each, put them on a plate and placed them in front of him. “This one is filled with raspberry jam,” she explained, pointing at the left one. “And the other one is chocolate-glazed with caramelized hazelnuts.”

Dave thanked her quickly, before she went to one of the crowded tables to give her costumers a refill of coffee.

Agnes' donuts turned out to be fantastic.

Not that Dave had expected anything less from the sweet woman, but the first bite surprised him anyway. It was as if she'd poured all her loveliness into the dough, glazed it with sweetness, and sprinkled wholesomeness on top.

He told her that much when she came back behind the counter and watched her blush.

“Biblical,” a familiar voice behind him commented.

Dave turned around. “Hazel?” The bigger man nodded a greeting. “What are you doing here?”

Hazel sat down on the stool next to him and fixed his messy tie. He was dressed in an expensive looking suit and carried a briefcase around, which he put down at his feet. It occurred to Dave that he had no idea what the other volunteer worked as when he didn't hand out soup.

Agnes answered for him. “Oh, Hazel comes here every day before work.” She smiled sweetly and there was something more in her sparkling eyes than just platonic fondness. “He has the sweet tooth of a five-year-old.”

Hazels expression remained neutral. “If I have the chance to eat at the best donut shop in town, I'm not going to miss out on that,” he stated matter-of-factly, which caused Agnes to blush even more if possible.

“Oh, stop it, you two!” Agnes exclaimed, but she looked more proud than embarrassed.

Hazel ordered a chocolate eclair and wished Agnes a nice day before heading out to work. He wasn't aware of it, but Agnes gaze followed him until he was out of sight

“So,” Agnes started when her attention shifted back to Dave, “how was your first night? Did you get any sleep?”

Dave nodded, swallowing down a bite of his donut. “I slept quite well, actually. Woke up early, yeah, but I haven't gotten that much sleep in a while.”

“I'm glad to hear that. Excuse me, but I have to ask that: Did anything happen that woke you up early?” He didn't want to share the night's events with Agnes, but she seemed genuinely concerned and it was her shelter after all.

He withheld some details, though. “One guy had a nightmare and dropped something in the refectory in his panic. Everything is alright, though.”

She nodded thoughtfully and turned to her coffee machine to finish a hot beverage. “Klaus?” she asked flatly.

Dave remained silent.

Agnes looked sad. “You can tell me. In fact, I'd like it if you did. I'm his emergency contact, after all.”

That was quite unexpected news and Dave had trouble regaining his composure. “Yeah, it was him,” he admitted defeatedly because now there really was no way he could lie to Agnes.

“Poor kid,” she murmured sadly and Dave could tell she meant it. “I've known him for…” she thought for a moment, “…almost eight years. He's been on the streets for so long and I know he's an adult, but I wish he'd let us help him a bit more.” Agnes' gaze shifted to Dave. “That applies to you too, Dave. If you don't need my help, fine, but don't let pride or shame stop you from reaching out.” Her soft smile and solemn eyes made him feel like a child again, wanting to confide in somebody so desperately but being scared of the reaction.

And Dave couldn't handle it. He gulped down the rest of his coffee and stood up quickly. “I'm sorry,” he said to Agnes. “But I have an appointment. I'll see you tomorrow!”

He turned to leave but Agnes called after him. “Dave!” He lifted his head. “Think about what I said, okay? We're here for you.”

“Thanks…” he said. “For the breakfast,” Dave added, because he was a coward like that and he knew it.

Agnes nodded, she looked sad but not disappointed. Understanding even.

And Dave just couldn't stand it.

 

 

The bus ride to the office of his therapist was uneventful, as usual.

Dave really wished he'd had the time to go home and change first, but there was no time for that. He made a mental note about rescheduling his appointments, so he'd have the mornings for himself and see his counselor in the afternoon.

Taking place opposite a woman with bright red hair and a young boy in her lap, he went over the list of issues Frank was likely to address and how he could deflect.

His self-inflicted isolation? It was not like his family wanted to see him.

The flashbacks? Not much he could do about them.

Chaz? They didn't talk about Chaz. Frank wanted to, Dave didn't. There was no way he would. Frank knew the whole story anyway, what was the point in retelling every painful detail?

It was like a game the two of them played once a week, every Wednesday at 10 a.m. If Dave was honest with himself, he would admit that actually liked the sessions. Not because he felt like he improved, but because Frank was an objectively nice and incredibly patient person. Dave thought that if he was stuck in an office with people like him every day, he'd have quit his job long ago. But the middle-aged therapist refused to give up and thus remained the most steady of Dave's few social contacts.

The mechanical voice announcing his stop interrupted his train of thoughts and he gathered his things quickly and rushed to the door. After crossing the busy street, he opened the heavy door to the gray office building and a familiar wave of anxiety hit him. He should be used to it by now, but couldn't help feeling like a failure when he thought about his lack of proper progress. Dave knew that Frank would never even consider that to be true but the thought lingered anyway. If Frank was a bit more stereotypical and less understanding, he would probably talk about the door as a metaphor for opening his mind and heart. But he wasn't, and Dave's mind remained as closed as ever, while Frank was content that he opened the door at all.

Frank's rooms were on the seventh floor and the building had an elevator, but Dave took the stairs because he enjoyed the weekly exercise. At this point, he'd been seeing his therapist for more than a year and found that the run upstairs didn't even bother him anymore.

The sign at the wooden door read 'Dr. Frank Tucker' in golden letters, which would have been an intimating title, if it weren't written in Comic Sans. Frank had once explained that he'd let his daughter pick the design and she'd simply chosen the font that looked the most like her own handwriting. That had been the session in which he'd realized that he was talking to an actual human, not some animated self-help book. Dave knocked twice and waited for the familiar answer from inside the room.

“Come in!” Frank called and Dave entered his office, shutting the door behind him.

The other man had gotten up from his chair walked towards him with his right hand outstretched. They greeted each other and moved to the low coffee table at the window. That was another thing Dave appreciated. There was no couch, no framed motivation posters on the walls, no cliches. Only Frank's desk, some potted plants, and the coffee table with two comfortable blue armchairs.

Without another word, Frank poured him a glass of water and set it in front of him, before taking place in the second armchair. 

“Well, Dave,” he begun. “How's the volunteer work going?”

The question caught Dave off guard. He remembered mentioning his new occupation during the last session but hadn't considered it significant enough to matter to Frank.

“Fine, I guess.” He shrugged. “I just had a night-shift, I guess Agnes trusts me.”

“Agnes?”

“The head of the shelter. Sweet woman, really. You'd like her.”

“How does that make you feel? That Agnes trusts you?” Frank asked. His voice was casual, but interest sparkled in his eyes.

“Good. I did my best and it was enough for her.” Frank smiled smugly. “You want me to say that it makes me proud, don't you?”

“Does it?”

Dave sighed and closed his eyes to think about his answer. “Yes. I… yeah, it makes me proud.”

Frank smiled, wider than Dave had ever seen him. “Are you aware that this is progress? How much that means? This Agnes is proud of you because you made a difference to her life and that of many others by leaving the shell you built for yourself. You should be proud.”

“But I'm not!” Dave shouted and apologized for it within the same breath. “I'm not,” he repeated, calmer but still tense. “Because I can't change _shit_. I met that guy at the shelter, he had a psychotic episode last night. And I can't help him or anyone else! I might have sat with him last night, but he's still going to see things that aren't there.” He tried to push away the thought of Klaus, curled into a tight ball, trying to become infinitesimally small and then vanish into non-existence. “And there's that elderly woman who has a grandchild in the area that she loves to bits. But he's got his own problems and a family and she chooses to stay on the streets because she feels like she'd be a nuisance to him.” Samantha, with her kind eyes and countless wrinkles from age, laughter, and sadness alike. “She said I reminded her of him.” He takes a shaky breath. “I can't help them.”

“Sounds like you did, though.” Frank looks thoughtful. “You want to help other people, to make their lives better. Why don't you accept that help for yourself? Why do you _refuse_ to heal?”

Dave couldn't stand his gaze. Instead, his eyes shift to the window next to him. The sky had cleared remarkably, he noted, slivers of sunlight peaked through the remaining clouds and bathed them in golden light. It was beautiful, beautiful in a way that wasn't meant for people like him.

“I don't deserve it.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I can't just fix the same thing I've taken from others. That's not fair.”

“Fairness is not the point, Dave. Not many things are fair, I give you that.” He paused for a second. “When you told me about your idea to help out at the shelter, I thought you were finally ready to forgive, or at least accept yourself. But that's not what you're going for, is it?” Dave's silence was answer enough. “I thought so.”

Frank stood up abruptly and walked to his desk to scribble something on a small notepad. “How did you spend Rosh Hashanah?” he asked without looking up.

“As I should…?” Dave answered uncertainly, wary of the sudden change of topic.

“Alone?”

“I went to the synagogue but otherwise yes?”

Frank walked over to him and put the note he'd written on the table in front of him.

“Unless you have a place to go for Yom Kippur, my family and I would be glad if you came to ours. It's at seven.” Dave opened his mouth to protest. “No, you don't have to bring anything,” Frank interrupted, fully aware of his actual intention.

Dave closed his mouth. Then he picked up the note and folded it carefully before putting it into his pocket.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, the length of this chapter escalated slightly.
> 
> Would you be interested in chapters from Klaus POV? I was thinking about including some of his experiences on the streets, directly told from his perspective.


End file.
